Fragile Attachments
by Wedjatqi
Summary: Following on from the end scene of the Legacy novel 'The Lost', where we left John and Teyla stood together on a balcony.  So be warned - spoilers ahoy for 'The Lost'.  JT.


**Warnings: **SPOILER ALERT – this is set following that final scene in the SGA novel 'The Lost', the second book of the new Legacy series. It contains direct references to the plot lines in the first two novels, so if you haven't read them both yet and don't want any spoilers, maybe stay clear for now.

**Disclaimers**: I own no part of the Stargate world, what was onscreen or in the Legacy novels. I make no money from this; I only wish to enjoy the SGA world.

**Note:** This is my take on what might have happened next between John and Teyla following on from the balcony scene at the end of the 'The Lost'. I have no idea what will occur in the third novel, so this fic may very well not make sense once that novel is published, but for now, this is my take on what is going on for these two characters and what has so far gone unresolved. This fic is also especially inspired, and a sequel to as well I guess, to the great piece called 'Dangerous Passages' by artaxastra. Thanks hun, you know someone had to run with what you posted for us.

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He had barely made it through the corridors to his quarters. She had remained by his side, not as close as before when they had stood out on the balcony alone, but she kept close to his side, for practical reasons if nothing else. Though the multiple stun shots had not left him any permanent damage, he remained weak, and as they had left the balcony, it had been clear that the last of his energy was leaving him. He had assured her that Jennifer had said he only needed to rest, and that he had promised to retire immediately to his own bed, but in typical form for him, he had disobeyed those medical orders.

Teyla understood though. After what they had learnt about Rodney…

There were times when one needed to stand outside on a balcony alone, with nothing but the majestic vast open sea stretching out around the city. The falling flakes of snow and the coating of ice over the railing was a far newer addition on this new planet, but even the sharp bite of chilled air could be welcome. She too had, on far too many occasions, needed to feel the sharp sea air against her face and the wind in her hair to help her to adapt, to think, to accept.

John had needed the same, but he had not requested further solitude. They had stood in silence, his body against her side and his arm around her back the only source of warmth left for her.

Rodney…

Similar thoughts of their friend had no doubt tormented John whilst stood out looking at that cold vista, and he had finally dropped his hand from her shoulder and turned, stating that he was tired. She had looked up to see the dark under his eyes and the paleness to his skin. He was exhausted and she suspected that the cold and sad thoughts of Rodney had drawn away the rest of John's reserves.

As she had accompanied along the corridors to reach his quarters, she had almost been able to see the last of his strength leaching out of him. She had desired to help him, but his spine had been held straight, his chin high as he could hold it despite his failing body. She had expressed concern that he should have remained in the Infirmary, but again he had assured her that he just needed to sleep. It was only her faith in Jennifer's decision to allow him out of the Infirmary that kept Teyla from steering him back to one of the doctor's medical beds. Instead, she had kept pace with him, clenching her fists at her sides to prevent herself from reaching out to help him. He wished to appear strong, he always did, and it was important in front of those around them. She also knew it was important for his mental state. She had told him that they would find Rodney, and she had to believe that herself as much as she needed John to keep the faith that they would successfully retrieve their lost friend. That thin determined logic would keep hope alive for them all, and right now possibly kept John on his feet.

They finally reached his quarters, and as the doors shut behind them, John began to surrender to the tiredness plaguing him. She angled him towards his bed, pleased that he was not trying to keep up pretences in front of her at least, but as he sat down on the edge of the bed, she could see the glaze to his eyes, his mind likely half asleep already. She pulled back the duvet for him and discovered folded black nightclothes half tucked under one pillow. He took them from her with a heavy tired hand, intending to dress to sleep despite his exhaustion. He shook his head at her suggestion that he just lay down as he was, his boots off would be enough, but he kept postponing the surrender to his physical weakness. She suspected it was also a denial of the torturous feelings in his chest that kept him so stubborn. It was likely that stubborn repressed pain that had kept him from looking directly at her out on the balcony and that had kept his spine straight all the way back here, despite the fact that he had struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Who was she to deny him that control, for she was doing the same herself?

Rodney had been turned into…

She asked to use his bathroom, walking away from him for a few minutes to gather near fracturing feelings. A splash of cold water on her face only made it all the more real though. This was no dream, no cruel creation of a nightmare.

Rodney…

Angry at her own lack of confidence, which she had so determinately stated as strong to John only moments ago, was failing. She too was tired. Her hip still hurt her, seemingly more now as if it was made worse by her aching heart.

She stepped out of John's bathroom to see that he had changed into his nightclothes, but was still resisting the necessity of lying back properly to sleep. His legs were under his duvet and his pillows piled behind his shoulders, but he was sat up still, tired fingers rubbing against his creased worried brow.

"Sleep, John," she told him, focusing on his care as a simple effective distraction from her own pains.

He dropped his hand, revealing a faint smile, but she could tell that he could barely see straight.

"Maybe we could get some more stunners from the SGC or maybe from the Travellers," he suggested, his voice deeper and slightly slurred. "They'll take Rodney down, give us time to…"

She approached one side of his bed and pressed her hand to his shoulder, encouraging him far too easily down onto his soft pillows. A heavy long out breath was pushed from him as he lay flat finally, and she reached for the controls to his main overhead lights.

"Sleep, John. There will plenty of time to plan how we will save Rodney," she stated with absolute confidence in her voice. She reached down for the top of his duvet around his middle, pulling it up higher over him. "You must rest now."

"Okay," John muttered sleepily, his eyes mostly closed.

She smiled down at him as she tugged the top of his duvet slightly further up his chest, hoping all of the cold from the balcony was long banished from his body. His chest was warm under her hand and she flattened her palm over his heart, needing that moment of assurance that he was still strong, and vibrant with life and his humanity.

It brought forth other thoughts too, ones she had pressed back from her mind through the mission and their return. Memories of a sudden passionate joining on the floor of the gym, of the feel of his skin under her touch, his mouth against hers. The feelings collapsed through all the walls of her control now, and the aching beauty and fragility of what she and John had shared poured through her, unstoppable now. It felt almost as raw a wound as the loss of Rodney - a raw, sensitised opening in her emotions, unaddressed and painful in its depth.

John drew in a deep relaxing breath, his chest rising under her hand, only he stirred abruptly, breaking himself from having almost fallen asleep, as if it were something to be feared rather than the nourishing regeneration he needed. Perhaps it was her presence, her touch that had disturbed him. She should leave him to seek his rest, for it was only her own needs that kept her here. There would be plenty of time to talk further over what had happened between them, to follow where he may allow her feelings and the fragile attachment to continue.

"Sleep, John," she repeated softly, quietly. "I'll leave you-"

"S'alright," he slurred with a sleepy smile. "S…sleep, s'okay, stay," he muttered and his hand touched hers on his chest.

She lifted her eyes from his hand over hers, to see his eyes were closed properly now and his face was already relaxing finally into sleep. His fingers over hers loosened and the weight of his arm slowly pulled the warmth of his hand from hers.

Silence filled his quarters and she stood for a moment longer, allowing herself to trail her gaze over his face. His chest moved under her hand with his steady breaths and she closed her eyes to the feel of it. She should leave him to sleep, retire to her own quarters. Tomorrow would bring meetings, planning, and the stress of their new knowledge of what had befallen Rodney.

John sighed heavily and shifted in his bed, his head rolling slightly to the side, his cheek meeting his stark white pillow.

She stood up straight, reluctantly lifting her hand from him and she felt colder for the loss of the contact. A rush of feeling swamped her as she recalled what had happened in that small Wraith chamber. Rodney, recognisable, but not him, and the blast of stunner fire, over and over again. She had feared John had been killed, killed by his own friend who had been twisted by creatures with whom she actually shared some genetic heritance.

She believed herself to be a strong woman. She had faced much hardship in her life and survived. She had to believe that they would save Rodney, that things would be as they were again with him and the team, and that the baring of self and feelings shared earlier with John, were all not in vain.

However, stood in the silence of John's quarters, the night air cool around her, she felt her own vulnerabilities. Since Torren's birth, she had found that after even the most terrifying or depressing of a day's events could be alleviated by a cuddle with her son. His smile, his love, innocence and life, could restore her faith in continuing the fight and renew her confidence in her choices. She craved that now. Craved the undeniability of life and honest connections of spirit.

She turned at John's bedside and reached for the light controls again, dialling down the level completely until the darkness of night engulfed the room. Starlight glowed in through his windows behind her, so she turned and moved quietly across the small distance to close his curtains. They were thin and still allowed some light in, but their closure emphasised the atmosphere of an enclosed safe space and the feeling that the difficulties and complexities of life could be put aside for a brief number of hours.

John's breathing was steady, which was comforting, as she moved around his bed and picked up his clothes that he had tossed away from the bed when he had changed. That he had missed the chair, which had been his target for his clothes, said much of how tired he had been.

However, she did not stop once his clothes were piled on the chair. She reached down and carefully, methodically, unlaced her own boots. She did not allow herself to question her actions, or to dwell on the fact that she had not perhaps been invited in this manner when he had asked her to stay. She pulled off her trousers and socks, piling everything carefully together on the same chair. The simple habitual act of preparing for bed allowed her to cease some of her worried thoughts. Her own exhaustion was fast creeping in upon her, so she focused on pulling off her jacket and then her watch. She considered whether to keep her top on, and decided on doing so, but she reached under and freed herself from her bra underneath. She pulled the straps out from each sleeve in turn and then pulled off the restrictive, yet functional, bra and folded it carefully on top of her clothes.

Her top felt rather short and restrictive, but it would be comfortable enough to sleep in. She trod on bare feet back to the side of John's bed. She paused before she lifted the closest edge of the duvet. He was in a deep relaxed sleep. Should she really impose her presence on him, when he had not invited her thus? Yet, she needed this. She needed…

She lifted the edge of the duvet, and he didn't stir as she carefully settled onto the small space beside him in the narrow bed. Already his body warmth had permeated the covers, and as she settled in closer it surrounded her, calling her to follow her instincts further, and so she rested her cheek down onto the cooler edge of his pillow. His face along the pillow remained relaxed in sleep, his breathing calm and steady. Flashbacks of memories played through her mind's eye - of him above her, his cheek against hers, his lips against hers…

She reached out through the tiny distance between their bodies and touched her cooled fingertips to the heat of his chest, and it was all that she needed. Curling in towards him, carefully as close as possible without disturbing him, she settled. She flattened her hand on his chest once again, allowing herself that single full contact, but he did not stir.

He was alive and well enough. He would recover fully after a good night's sleep, and she held onto that fact, focusing on his heartbeat under her palm and the soft gentle rhythm of his breaths soft against her cheek. She would sleep here a while. She could always leave quickly in the morning if he did not wish her presence here.

She closed her eyes to the starlight, forcing away thoughts of the day's dark events and revelations, and her wayward mind's eye away from her recalled images of Rodney's altered alien face. She focused her attention on John beside her, and she dipped her chin, pressing her closed lips to the real solid presence of his strong shoulder. He was here with her. He was alive. He had held her, kissed her.

They would find Rodney, and all would be well again.

She felt the faint trace of tears at the corners of her eyes, but she willed any more of them away.

They would find Rodney and save him.

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Dark places, dry desert air, the sharp pain of piercing blades and bullets. The puzzle of horrors mixed without narrative, only feeling. Deep pain and panic, lost and running out of time, his friend dying in his arm, monsters hiding behind webbed walls, the stern uncaring and unthinking intolerance of Uniformed eyes, judging, the screams of those dying, his own cries of tortured pain. The flash of Wraith eyes, only for a moment, but they were known. Human eyes behind a monster's, but lost to John in the sweep of blinding electrical pain and darkness. Teyla's panicked fearful shout, only to whisper away into his name said in her soft delicate breath.

He woke suddenly from the dream, its weight almost physical, threatening to tug him back down into the dark images and leaching memories.

He blinked against the darkness, but it remained, only now it was real. It wasn't the press of dark unknown, or painfully known, dark shadows. This dark was a real night around him. He was awake.

He blinked rapidly again, forcing his mind to focus into full awareness, running away from the clawing dreams his subconscious plagued him with almost every night. Except, tonight there was a new nightmare to deal with, only this one was real.

Rodney - a Wraith.

The fact pressed heavily on John, almost as much as the darkness. Only he knew there was no escape from this horror, and it seemed that the Pegasus galaxy had an unending supply of unexpected horrors for them.

He was tired, so tired. It wasn't just the electrical storm that the stunners had played through every nerve ending in his body that was to blame. The gulf between Atlantis and finding Rodney seemed so wide, so unscalable to him in the darkness.

No, he couldn't think that, he couldn't let the weakness of his body steal his inner strength. He _would_ find Rodney. They _would_ get him back.

And then John would remind Rodney about having stunned him about ten bloody times.

The burst of humour, a habit of his in his thinking, broke the moment for him, only it allowed out the sadness again. The threat of losing another one he cared for, someone else he hadn't been able to save, who he had let down…

If only falling back to sleep would help, allowing him to simply recharge and regain his strength, but those heavy shadows threatened to return in his dreams. He had spent far too many nights hiding from them, denying sleep in place of simply lying here or jogging out along the piers as he tried to work out some way to solve whatever problem there was. To do _something_.

Tonight though, the weight of what had happened to Rodney felt so heavy. How were they going to get Rodney back now? All the stunners in the world wouldn't find out were the Wraith ship was located again.

Soft warmth grazed his leg, pulling John's mind into further focus, informing him how much closer to sleep he had been than he had realised. His senses quickly registered the warmth along his right side, the soft body pressed to his right arm, and the gentle weight of a cheek against his shoulder.

Teyla.

She had stayed, not only here with him, but in his bed.

The world shifted around him, life altering again.

Where the horrors and difficulties of the last week had sat, sudden lighter sensations sparkled to life. The gym, her kiss, her skin, her cries of passion, his name on her lips. Only, barely moments later, as they had both lain spent and panting on the gym floor, the call had come in from the Control Room calling him urgently away. Teyla had been curled up against him, her body warm within his embrace and barely any words had been shared between them to express what had happened, what it meant, before Todd's call to arms. The chaos of the rescue mission afterwards and waking up in the Infirmary partially deaf and barely able to feel his legs, John hadn't been able to process what had happened with Teyla.

The painful knowledge of what had happened to Rodney, and how he had reacted to his 'rescue', had plagued John's thoughts when he had been released from the Infirmary, and especially so when looking into Keller's pained haunted eyes as she remained stubbornly on duty. John hadn't wanted to stay in the Infirmary, especially where he could see her pain. He had promised Keller that he would go straight to his own bed to sleep, but he hadn't been able to face that right away. He hadn't been able to make his numbed feet take him to the waiting nightmares, and instead he had stood out in the cold. Perhaps not the smartest place to stand when you still couldn't feel all of your extremities, but he had needed it.

Teyla's appearance had helped though, and he had been grateful that she had been there to help him back here in the end. She hadn't needed to talk about what had happened in the gym, she just had accepted it, and had been more focused on building up his own confidence that they would find and save Rodney.

He tilted his chin, trying to look down at her pressed against his side in the darkened bed. He could only see her hair and part of her cheek in the faintest light making it through his curtains. Yet, it was enough for him to see that she was lying against his arm. The bed was narrow and he guessed she had barely any room at his side.

He became aware of the feel the back of one of her hands tucked up against his elbow and her belly against his forearm. She was curled up around his right arm and shoulder, though her feet had tangled further around his, likely seeking warmth from him.

He dipped his chin down and inhaled the jasmine scent of her hair and the warm scent of her skin, spiced with the extra scent of what he termed in his own mind as 'Athosian Teyla'. That mix of perhaps incense and that sweet tea she liked, mixed with the elemental femininity of her. He pressed his nose and lips closer, seeking her forehead, and he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He remembered the taste of her skin now, and the more intimate.

Possession coursed through his veins, and he tightened his eyes closed further, drawing on this new development, this new fact of his life against the horrors. There might be shadowed thoughts and dreams in the night, but tonight there was also her. Teyla was here with him.

He hadn't known what might happen when he had sought her out in the gym. All he had known was that he hadn't wanted to be passive anymore, hadn't wanted to let life pass by leaving him untouched anymore. Finding out the truth of her and Kanaan had changed so much, and he hadn't been prepared to return to how things had been two years ago. He wasn't going to let things pass by anymore.

He hadn't expected the responding sparkle in her eyes, which had appeared through her clear formally grumpy mood. She was always that way when she was injured in anyway, and it had been part of the reason why he had sought to draw her into a sparring match. She could win over him any day of the week, probably would still have been able to if she had fractured her hip instead of deeply bruising it. He felt a renewed swash of regret and aggression at that pain caused her, knowing that he was in part to blame. He should have run that mission better, should have listened to her advice before they had left for the _Avenger_.

Except, would have that meant that he and Teyla wouldn't have talked in that cave, where he had felt pushed to confess to her something he hadn't been able to put into words before? Would he have learnt of her acceptance of him and gained the confidence she had given him about his future in Atlantis? And then to hear her confession about Kanaan later. Would those two conversations have happened if the op had actually gone fully to plan?

He opened his eyes into the darkness, his vision slightly improved against the darkness now he was more awake.

He brushed his lips against her forehead gently, wondering at the fragility of events and truths.

She stirred slightly against him, and his first thought was to make sure she didn't roll away from him and potentially off the bed. He reached over her and gently laid his hand against her back, keeping her from rolling away. He became aware then how close to the bed's edge she had been lying, and that her back felt cold where some of the duvet had fallen away from her back. He pulled her closer, gently, feeling the subtle flexing of her spine through her thin top, which rode up as he leant her further against him, bare skin at her waist grazing against his wrist. There still wasn't much room for her, and with his arm still trapped up against her, he still took up most of the bed. So, he shifted himself, turning onto his right side, pressing his chest up against her as he held her against him and then he shuffled back in the bed, pulling them both into the narrow centre of the mattress.

She woke somewhere in that manoeuvre, her breath breaking with a surprised breath as she felt him move them, but she didn't resist. She leant her chest and hip against his, moving with him without question or resistance, displaying in a telling way her trust and comfort with him.

He settled them in the middle of the bed, turned towards one another, his arms around her, holding her against him as he rested his nose into the warm cradle of her throat. She took a deep breath, sighing it out in a soft feminine sleepy moan, and he smiled, closing his eyes.

She had asked him to yield to her before, wanting his passion and surrender to what was between them. He had surrendered long ago in truth, and now, he felt her yield to him, shown in her trust in him, the surrender of her body in his bed and in his arms. He felt humbled and at the same instance possessive and protective of her. He tightened his embrace a little further, and her cheek rested against his upper chest with another soft sleepy sigh.

He could barely believe that she was here, that he was holding her like this, that they had shared what they had in the gym. That she had let him touch her that way, that he had kissed her, that she had returned it. He could remember her hands on him, her tight hold of his hair, and around his neck and his hips. God, it had really happened, and in that act, and her presence here now, she had yielded to him as much as he had to her.

With that knowledge, he inhaled against the skin of her throat again, and stroked his hand down her back, keeping her up close to him. He had never really thought of holding a woman this way as comforting. He had always seen sex and relationships with women as filling that need, enjoying the physical, expressing out a hunger or simply for fun. Holding Teyla was very different. Though the hunger was there now, there was also their history, the horrors shared, the new difficulties, that she was a mother and that her son called him 'Da', that they trusted each other so much already, and that they had so much horror still to fight against… He squeezed his eyes against the complex emotions of it all. Was this what real love felt like? So much feeling that it almost felt as if his insides were ready to explode in joy or curl up in overwhelming vulnerability?

He would do anything for her, anything. He had known that some time ago, for he had other friends around him now for whom he would equally surrender his life for, but this was different. It was as painful as it was warm. It hurt to think of her alone in anyway, to think of the fragile nature of her life and his, how close they all came to death, or to other terrors such as whatever it was the Wraith had done to Rodney. And all John had done was lie unconscious under stunner fire in that chamber, leaving her and Ronon's back undefended and his own surrendered to their care. It was terrifying enough on a normal day to think about what could happen to those he now cared about so much, but Teyla… He ached to think of her undefended, to think of her strength, proud and beautiful. To think of her feeling the same fears and pains as him, knowing that their friend might truly be lost to them - just as it had been with Aiden and Elizabeth. And all those other many names of whom he had written death reports in pale military parlance that was, like any other language, unable to grasp what really had happened and how it had felt.

This was real though, lying here with her breaths against his throat and her hands curled up against his middle, her trust in him complete and terrifying. He could let her down so easily, all it would take was something out of his control, some event he hadn't been able to predict or prevent, and she might be gone. Gone, like Rodney.

He had lost people, and some of their deaths had left scars that he still felt, but he suspected that losing Teyla might truly crack open his heart. So many in his life now meant too much to him, and they could be taken from him so easily. He wrapped his arms around Teyla a little more, hugging her to him, and in response, her upper leg slid over his, allowing them closer. She was more awake than he had realised, but she remained partially asleep still, comfortable and safe with him.

She had been just a friend yesterday, this morning even. Now, she was so much more, not because his feelings had changed, but because now they were shared. He didn't really know how she felt in detail, but she had said enough to him to make it clear that she felt more than he had expected, than he might have hoped. Suddenly these past months' events between them changed in meaning. Sharing hotel rooms, sharing Torren's care on Earth, her smiles, her somewhat pained expressions. It was likely now that she had felt as he did; the gulf between them that was called Kanaan and formed from the choices they had made. John's inaction had been his mistake, but no longer.

He ran his hand down her back and up again, feeling the relaxation in her, the heat of her body and the texture of her skin at her waist where her top left her back exposed to his touch. He returned his hand to that patch of skin, pressing his palm flat, absorbing what it felt like to touch her. She seemed more petite than usual, for when she was tucked up against him, he could not miss the differences in their bodies. Her shoulders fit easily within his arms, her waist tiny compared to his, and her feet elegantly small squeezed in between his. Yet, she was not small or fragile in his arms. She had long strong arms and legs for her height, her body was warm and giving, the swells of breasts, hips and lips against his body, starkly real even through layers of fabric.

He ran his hand round to the side of her waist, lying his hand over that narrow width, to then slide up to the rounded swell of her hip, and her thigh, lifted up over his. Her legs were bare, and he slid his palm along the length of her thigh, up to her knee and then down the back of her thigh to the appealing roundness of her backside, clothed only in a thin warmed through layer of material. He continued his caress up her back again, but this time under her top, tracing up the line of her spine. Her back flexed and twisted as he did so. She lifted her cheek from his chest and stretched herself up in line with him again, and her lips grazed over his cheek.

He closed his eyes at her soft kiss on his cheek, before he turned to meet her lips with his.

Just as in the gym, there were no words, just the press of mouths and hands sliding under clothes. Yielding had become an equal sport between them. Her body's weight pressing him back to the mattress melded seamlessly with his hands stroking down her back, pushing down her single piece of underwear away from where he could grasp both cheeks of her backside, adjusting her along his body to lie them just right together. She rubbed herself closer against him, stealing his breath, but she gave him her own with another kiss.

He had intentions to be slower, to tell her things, to explain and make sure she understood what this meant to him, what he wanted now, and how he felt. But, he already knew there were no words to capture that, and he had never been any good at even trying before. So, he showed her, in every caress and in every kiss.

It wasn't a confession of sweet fluttery feelings; it was an expression of that warm aching beautiful pain of loving her. It was passionate in how he held her always close, honest in their uninhibited groans and gasps, as intimate and dominating as his mouth between her legs, as demanding as her hands twisting in his hair and her thighs tight around his head, and it was as raw as his penetration into her wet welcoming body.

In the darkness of his quarters, they clung to one another, the duvet long ago lost to the floor, the bed creaking under them and her nails digging deep into his back. He knew it wasn't going to be enough, not nearly enough, despite how tight she squeezed around him or how loud and echoing brilliant her orgasmic cries were to his ears. He could not remain in her long enough, could not keep this desperate edge of pure instinct and emotion and physical demand together to make it last. Even in the height of his own blinding release, that burst apart all thought and replaced it with only soul deep pleasure that was equalled in its intensity only by its brevity. A touch of heaven that stole his mind, body, and heart.

He had thought the gym had been the glory of that first time, but this was more. It engulfed him and pushed away every worry, every pain and scar. There had been nothing before and there would be nothing more.

Then that touch of heaven finally broke apart itself, falling back into loud panting, sweat coated skin, and arms tight round one another. He knew that he was too selfish to stop this, too desperate to not keep this, and too old now to pretend that it wasn't desperately important to him.

He pressed kisses to her neck, only to feel her own tears streaking down her temples, and so he kissed them away. He promised her that they would save Rodney, that she was never alone, and that she could ask anything of him. She promised him the same, her arms tight around him, holding them as close as possible and he felt no sense of constriction or discomfort. He wanted to stay with her, inside her as long as possible, and to hold back the shadows just a little bit longer with her. Together, they had been able to fight the horrors all these years, and now he would chase away all the shadows and fears he could for her in the night. Their shared assurances that they would succeed over all difficulties were knowingly uncertain, because they both knew that there could be horrors out there that they could not even name yet.

But, lying with her, their words spent along with their strength, wrapped together on his narrow bed and under his thin duvet, they could at least hold one another against the darkness.

In the darkest hour the brightest light was always to be found, and with Teyla, he knew he had found it. He huddled close to that light, one which he had not expected to blind him quite so brightly or so suddenly, but it lit him up inside with more hope and determination than any electrical stunner storm.

Together they were stronger and tomorrow they would begin the fight to get Rodney back.

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>THE END<p> 


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